


Musings

by Galadriel



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Fans, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Metatextual, Muses, Parody, Self-Insert, Silly, Vignette, Writers, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-01
Updated: 1999-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan is less than co-operative when an author decides to write a short 'fic for Archivists' Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Archivists' Day, Nov. 1, 1999. This one's for Sockii. Thanks for all the hard work you put in to the archive and the list every day.
> 
> _**Aug. 6, 2013:** This is an old fic, one of my first, written specifically for the Master_Apprentice listmum. I'm including it here for completeness' sake. IMHO, it's cute and silly (and extremely rough around the edges), but it is aimed at a pretty narrow audience._

She sighed and flexed her fingers, glaring through the screen at the unborn text buried beneath.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you'd help a bit." The chair screamed as she swung around to face the figure lounging on the couch behind her. "Can't you, um, _do something?_ " She waved her hands aimlessly in the air as her eyes swept over the tunic clad chest and down his muscled legs. "I mean, you could loosen something or drop the cloak or..." Coughing, she paused and took in the tight thighs resting in mid-air. "Hey! Get your boots off the table! This isn't some hovel on Tatooine, you know."

The smooth forehead furrowed as a frown crept over his face. "I'm hurt that you'd bring that up. You know I don't like to talk about it. All that sand..."

"And no sex. I know."

"Besides, the beard itches and all I get to do is waste time training that Luke kid. Yeesh." Blue-green eyes rolled skyward. "Some Jedi he'll make. Last hope? Bah! It's a good thing Qui-Gon wasn't around. He'd have made mincemeat of the little squirt. Never listened to a word I said..." His lips pursed as he made a face.

"Shhh! Don't say things like that." She eyed the empty room warily. "THEY'LL hear you."

"What? Who?"

"The LIST! I've told you a hundred times; watch what you say! You can't just go around ranting about Luke and Leia and Han and George and..." She trailed off. "You'll thank me, you know, the next time you end up in a Classic Trilogy 'fic. Do you really want the Skywalker kid to kick your ass? 'Cause that's what'll happen if you don't watch your mouth."

A pretty pout and a few bats of his lashes accompanied his next thought. "But I thought the only thing I wasn't supposed to mention was that Qui-Gon d..."

"NoooOOOooo!" She hit the carpet, rolled a couple of feet smack into the wall and crouched cowering in a ball.

An eternity passed, punctuated only by the rustle of candy wrappers and the occasional smack of lollipop-dyed lips licking sticky chocolate-coated fingers.

Eventually, her fingers splayed and she peeped out from behind her hands at the laughing Padawan. "Honestly, _I've_ come to terms with it. I don't understand why they haven't." He grinned as he yanked open another package and popped the contents into his mouth.

Relieved that the Council of Denial hadn't caught wind of his blasphemy, she straightened up. "I really don't think you'd have come to terms with it so well if they hadn't written so many AUs for you and your 'dead' Master to play in."

"Oh. Um, yes... Well, there is that."

"And of course," she noted, gathering steam, "your relationship with your Master wouldn't be the same without the list and the archive. It'd just be a bunch of random events happening in a fragmentary pattern. You wouldn't get the unity and cohesiveness that comes with a more organized group of stories coming from a community of writers," the arms flailed in earnest now, "ALL HAIL SOCKII!!!!"

"Don't you _ever_ stop being an English major?"

She stuck out her tongue, leaned forward and firmly released the bowl of candy from his grip. "Um, are you sure you should be eating so much of that? I doubt Jedi get much exposure to high levels of sugar... Aw man! Don't pout. You know I hate it when you pout... Oh, all right." She handed the bowl back to him. "But if you get ill later, don't come to... I won't be terribly pleased," she finished lamely. "Where'd you get all this stuff from anyway?"

"Last night. Qui-Gon and I went out for a moonlit walk and got caught up in this huge wave of kids. Next thing I knew, I was at someone's front door and they were stuffing chocolate into my hands. Well, it would be rude for a Jedi to turn down a gift given in kindness, wouldn't it?" He tossed a caramel her way.

"Don't look so smug. By the way, where IS Qui-Gon?"

"Upstairs, washing his hair. A toffee apple got stuck in it." The Jedi had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

In a surprisingly well-placed moment, a distinctly unserene "OW!" issued from the floor above.

"Do I want to know? ...No, probably not. That'd just keep me up typing even later. And I already told you I've only got time to write a short 'fic for Archivists' Day! Now act like the Muse you're supposed to be and HELP ME!" Not one to pass up a perfect opportunity, she snickered and whispered, "You're my only hope." Turning back to the screen, she managed to avoid most of the hail of Tootsie rolls that followed.

Once again, the blank screen stared her down, taunting her with unformed words and shadowy sentences. It didn't look promising. Sleep beckoned, and her so-called Muse was being less co-operative than usual. She should just give up and pack it in for the...

The sofa creaked and suddenly two soft, warm hands descended onto her shoulders. She sighed as they slowly kneaded her tense muscles. "Look, I've had very little sleep in the last couple days and... Oh." His breath was warm on her cheek as he leaned forward to peer at the keyboard. He smelled... spicy, like mulled wine on a winter afternoon.

"All right. I suppose it's about time for me to step in and 'inspire' you." He chuckled deep in his throat. His braid brushed against her neck and she shivered involuntarily. No wonder Qui-Gon was so possessive of his Padawan. Every molecule of his body fairly screamed "take me," his grin could charm the birds off the trees, and his voice... his voice was liquid sex.

"Er." The heat blossoming in her face crept down her neck and disappeared under her neckline. "Don't forget the, um, 'hot Jedi action'. The list won't forgive me if I don't include some."

"Dear," he said kindly, " _I_ won't forgive you if you forget it."

"Right... and angst. There's got to be angst. I _like_ angst."

Hugging her over the back of the chair he laughed, the sparkling echoes of his voice bouncing off the white walls. "Ok. Angst and sex. Now let's see what we can do..."


End file.
